


i almost said i love you (and you almost said it back)

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hp_crossgenfest, Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-03 18:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11538393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: It isn’t uncommon for Draco to turn to Severus when he’s having a crisis, and usually it helps. This time, however, his presence only complicates things further.





	i almost said i love you (and you almost said it back)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2017 HP Cross Gen fest. Originally posted [here](http://hp-crossgenfest.livejournal.com/47430.html).
> 
> Please note that this is a romantic relationship between godfather/godson, as requested by the prompt.

**i.**

There is no shocking realisation. No panic or surprise. There’s just this. This tranquil type of acceptance. This _oh_ feeling, as if everything has finally clicked into place, and Draco understands.

Astoria hands him a cup of too-sweet tea, and even as he murmurs an insincere thanks, he thinks: _This isn’t what I want._

So this is how his marriage ends. Not with a bang, but with a windy autumn evening and the sound of a spoon hitting the sink.

***

“I thought we agreed on Friday.”

“We did.”

“Then why are you here now?”

“Because I need you now.” Simple and to the point. He’s no time for beating around the bush, not today. “Will you let me in?”

His request is answered by a loud sigh, but Severus opens the door properly and steps aside for Draco to enter. “What have you done this time?”

Draco can’t help the twitch of his mouth. “You have such little faith in me, Severus.”

“Within reason,” is the response. The door is shut behind them; the lock clicking back into place with a flick of Severus’ hand, and then Draco is faced with his godfather once again. “So, what is it?”

“I’m not in trouble,” Draco tells him. “Not exactly.”

He doesn’t consider it trouble, just… an undesirable situation to be in. Three days have passed since the Tea Incident, as Draco has come to call it, and his life is slowly falling apart.

“What did you do?” is asked for a third time, and Draco can tell Severus’ patience is thinning. He’s never been a fan of Draco’s impromptu visits. They rarely, if ever, lead to anything good.

“I got married.”

Simple, again. Said with a deep exhale. Draco looks up at Severus, impatiently waiting for a response.

Severus blinks at him. “That was two years ago.” There’s a hint of confusion in his tone, the faintest of furrows in his brow.

“Yes,” he agrees. “It was a mistake. I’ve changed my mind.”

“You’ve changed your mind.”

It’s said in a monotone, the type Draco knows he only uses when speaking to those he considers inept.

“Yes,” he huffs.

“Surely you should have considered this before you got married?”

“I did!” Draco’s voice has risen now, anger simmering beneath its surface. “But I didn’t have a choice, did I? Father was threatening to arrange one if I didn’t make an effort.”

Draco’s lip has curled to a sneer, the memory and the anger attached obviously still fresh. Severus sighs softly, already feeling the impending headache. The period prior to the wedding had been a disaster. This is likely to be much worse.

It’s barely past midday, but still. Severus beckons Draco through his home and into his study. There’s a crystal decanter resting on a shelf in between a seemingly endless row of books, and he takes hold of it. He hears Draco take a seat as he pours the brandy, and when he turns, he finds him slumped forward in the visitor’s chair, his arms folded across Severus’ desk.

“Why now?” he asks as he takes the adjacent seat. He slides a glass to Draco and takes a sip of his own, the brandy pleasant against his tongue.

Draco tilts his glass, watching as the amber liquid swirls. “She puts too much sugar in my tea.”

There is a moment where Severus simply stares, where he half expects it to be a joke, but Draco’s tone is completely serious, his mouth turned in a frown, and Severus realises he’s being honest.

“Oh, how horrible,” he deadpans. “And you’ve put up with this for how long?”

“It’s not funny,” Draco grumbles. He sits up abruptly, glass clanking quietly as he rests it on the wooden desk. “What am I going to do?”

“Make your own tea?” Severus suggests. “Surely you are not that incompetent.”

“It’s not just the tea.” Another sigh, frustrated now. Draco shifts forward in his seat. “It’s everything, Severus. I don’t want to be married anymore. I wan—” he cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, fingers brushing through his hair roughly. “We don’t even love each other.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, we don’t.” Draco’s voice is a yell restrained to a mutter. “Not the way we should.” His left hand clutches the glass, and Draco stares at it, at the gold band that gleams back at him. “At least I don’t.”

Severus leans against his chair. His face is unreadable, though Draco thinks there may be a hint of something akin to sympathy. “Your parents will not approve of a divorce,” he says. “Not until you produce an heir.”

“They won’t approve of it then either.” Though they may accept it, Draco thinks. If he’s lucky. “It’s not becoming of the Malfoy name.”

And, oh. There are times where he hates his name. Despises it with all he has. He takes pride in his blood status, but there are times where he damns it. The rules, the traditions. It all gets so tiring.

“It’s not like either of them could understand,” Draco continues. “They love each other, even if they argue. They wouldn’t last under the same roof if they didn’t.”

He brings the glass to his lips and downs the brandy in one gulp. Severus watches him do it.

“What do you expect to happen?”

“I don’t know.” He says it with a bitter laugh, his left hand disappearing under the table. Out of sight. “Does it matter? Whatever I do, someone will be unhappy.”

“Then the obvious choice is to do what you want.”

“Or do nothing at all.”

Severus sighs, finishing his own drink. He meets Draco’s eyes. “Could you manage?” he asks. “Disregarding your own desires to do only what is asked of you is no way to live, Draco.”

And he would know, wouldn’t he? Seven years since the War had passed, and Severus only now feels like his own person again. If Draco were to force himself to maintain a charade of happiness in order to please his parents… Severus knows it would damage him.

“What would you suggest?” Draco asks. His voice is softer, now. More resigned.

“My only advice is to discuss the matter with Astoria.”

Sound advice, Draco thinks. He’ll likely ignore it.

“Must you always be so responsible?”

Severus’ mouth twitches, the movement something of a smile. “One of us has to be.”

Draco smiles back; faint, the look disappearing after a short moment. “I suppose I should leave,” he says. His tone suggests he doesn’t want to, but still. Draco stands, hands flattening out the wrinkles in his robe. “I have to go devise a plan to remind my mother how much she loves me.”

Severus snorts. “I doubt they’ll kill you, Draco.”

“No. But father does enjoy being dramatic.”

A family trait, Severus thinks, but smartly holds his tongue. “I’ll look forward to the funeral regardless.”

Draco grins in response before offering a final goodbye and walking from the room.

 _Talk to Astoria_ , he thinks as he Apparates. He can do that.

***

Talking to Astoria, as it turns out, isn’t quite as easy as Draco had thought it would be. She isn’t there when he arrives home, and by the time of her return, he’s already in bed and in no mood to have any type of serious conversation.

“Good day?” she asks as he slips under the covers, her hand moving to brush his.

He hums, the sound almost a groan. It means both yes and no. “You?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. Daphne and I tested cakes.”

“Cake?”

“The wedding.” There’s a rustle as Astoria gets comfortable in the bed, and Draco tries not to sigh as his own comfort is disturbed.

“Of course.” He’d almost forgotten. “Soon, isn’t it?”

“Just next month. Mum said they should push it back to Spring, like ours, but they both prefer the cool.”

Blaise always had, Draco recalls. The train ride to every new school year had always been filled with complaints about the heat. “Should be nice,” he mumbles. His eyes are closed, their covers pulled up to his chin. He wants to sleep.

“It’ll be beautiful,” Astoria agrees. The last of the room’s candles are waved out, the annoying glow fading. “Goodnight.”

Draco mumbles another response, burrowing further into the mattress, and they speak no more.

***

Unable to talk to Astoria, Draco turns to the next best thing.

“Darling.” His mother greets him with a smile and a kiss to his cheek, her cold palm cupping his face for the briefest of moments. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” He hangs his traveling cloak in the drawing room and follows her further into the Manor, her light heels tapping against the polished floor. “Where’s Father?”

Narcissa waves a hand as they pass the hallway and step inside a sitting room, a tray of tea already prepared. “Out in the gardens,” she says. “You know how the crocuses get this time of year. He’s been tending to them.”

Ah, yes, Draco thinks. His father’s gardening habit. Perhaps one of the most unexpected hobbies he’d picked up while under house arrest.

“No Astoria?” his mother asks, fiddling with their tea. She hands him a saucer before taking her own seat.

“No.” He shifts awkwardly and brings the delicate china to his mouth. The tea is hot and bordering on bitter, just the way he likes it, and Draco can’t help but think how nice it is to be home. “It’s why I’m here, actually.”

“Oh?” Narcissa raises her brow at him. “Has something happened?”

“Yes. No. I— well.” He takes a breath and swallows the nervous lump in his throat. “When you and Father were married,” he starts. “Were there any problems?”

His question doesn’t seem to surprise her. “No,” she answers. “Not really. Abraxas wasn’t very fond of my father, but there were no problems between the two of us. We’d already been together for a year or so.”

“You didn’t argue?”

“Everyone argues,” Narcissa tells him. And then, her face lined with a look he can’t place: “Why? Are you and Astoria fighting?”

“Not exactly.” Or at all, really. They had at first, neither of them quite used to cohabiting as they were, but it had settled since then. Now, they mostly just ignored each other when they were angry. “I was just...” he trails off, unsure how to finish.

“I see.” Narcissa takes a sip of her tea and places the saucer on the table, one leg crossing over the other as she turns to him. “I’ve been waiting for this visit, you know. I hadn’t thought it would take this long.”

Draco blinks. “What?”

Narcissa smiles at him, and it’s almost sad. “You’re unhappy,” she says. It’s not a question.

Draco swallows, glad to have something to do with his hands. “How did you know?”

“A mother always knows.”

Of course, Draco thinks. “You could have let me in on it,” he says. “Seems like something I’d have liked to know.”

“There are some things you must discover on your own, darling.” She looks to the wide windows of the room, out into the view of the Manor’s beautiful gardens. Trees sway in the distance, the sky a cloud covered blue. “Your father doesn’t know.”

“I suspect he wouldn’t want to discuss it even if he did.”

Narcissa’s lips purse, a strand of pale blonde hair falling across her face. She lifts a hand and pushes it behind her ear. “You’re likely right,” she agrees. “He wants an heir.”

“I know.”

“I can’t give him any more children.” Her eyes move back to Draco, red-coloured lips pulling to a frown. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says. “But whatever you’re thinking... you can’t. Not yet.”

It’s exactly what he’d expected, and yet it still feels like a punch to the gut. His mother reaches a hand forward, her fingers curling around his arm and squeezing in what’s meant to be a comforting gesture.

Draco drinks his tea.

***

“Is this going to be a weekly occurrence?”

Draco smiles as he steps past Severus. “Always so happy to see me.”

“I’ve a job, you know.”

Draco hums, watching as the door is locked once again. “I’ll pay the difference.”

Severus turns to him, an eyebrow arched. “If being paid to listen to your problems was an option, I daresay you owe me quite a bit of money.”

“Our next outing can be to Gringotts, then,” Draco says. “But I’m not here to bore you with my marital problems, I’m here to pick out your wedding robe.”

“My what?”

“For Blaise and Daphne’s wedding. They don’t want you to look like a bat.” And then, at the glare Severus sends him, “Their words, not mine.”

“I haven’t agreed to attend.”

“No, but Mother said you would, so now you have to.”

Draco laughs at the answering sigh, setting off throughout the home and towards Severus’ rooms.

“Your mother is a horrid woman,” Severus says, though he follows him anyway.

“And one of your closest friends.” Draco steps inside Severus’ bedroom and walks toward the closet. Light filters in from the window, the glow reflecting against the deep mahogany. “Or your only friend. It’s hard to tell.”

Severus sits on the edge of his bed and watches as Draco opens the cupboard, reaching straight for the far left side, where his formal attire rests. Briefly, he wonders how he ever let the Malfoy family infiltrate his life like this.

“Did you talk to Astoria?” He asks, because he knows Draco will bring it up either way.

“No.” Draco pulls at a light grey garment and turns to look at Severus, his eyebrow arched.

“A gift.” From Narcissa, too. Sometimes, he’s certain the woman only spends money to prove she has it. “Why not?”

“I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“I imagine ‘I’d like a divorce’ would do.”

Draco turns to glare at him. “It’s not that easy.”

Of course not, Severus thinks. Nothing ever is with a Malfoy.

“I did speak to my mother, though.”

“And?”

“Well.” Draco runs his hand across a deep blue dress robe, eyes flicking between the fabric and Severus’ frame before he sets it aside. “Apparently she already knew. She says not to tell Father.”

“I told you.”

“I know,” Draco sighs, and then, in a voice that can only mean trouble, “Severus.”

Severus takes one look at him and knows exactly where it’s going. “No.”

“I haven’t even asked!”

“I’m not telling your father you want a divorce, Draco.”

Draco huffs again, arms crossing over his chest. “Fine. Tell my wife, then.”

“No.”

“She’ll take it better if it comes from you.”

“She will not,” Severus snaps. “If this is something you want, then you must do it yourself.”

“I come to you for advice and that’s what you give me? You’re not usually this useless, Severus.”

“Forgive me for not solving each and every one of your issues,” Severus replies, sarcastic. “It’s almost as if I have better things to do.”

“Oh, my deepest condolences. Am I interrupting your date with a jar of lacewing flies? How inconsiderate of me. I better be off.”

Draco makes to move for the door, his mouth quirked in a faint smile, as if he’s trying not to laugh. Severus grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back.

“Brat,” he murmurs, but there’s a fondness to it.

Draco turns back to the closet and picks the last formal robe. Black, this time, the fabric lined with a detailed stitch pattern. He holds it out towards his godfather and smiles. “This one.”

Severus eyes the garment. “I don’t get a say in the matter, then.”

“No.”

“Just as I’d thought.”

Arguing, as he’s long since learnt, is futile. Severus takes the robe and puts it back where it came from. They’ve still got three weeks. He’ll deal with it then.

 

**ii.**

Talking to Astoria doesn’t get any easier. If anything, it only gets more difficult.

As Daphne’s wedding approaches, Astoria spends more and more time out of the house. She comes back each night exhausted, the two of them barely sharing a quick hello before she falls asleep.

Draco can’t honestly say he minds. His mother had said time apart would do them good, but to him, it feels more like a trial-run of living on his own again.

There are some days — where he gets lonely, where the empty home feels almost uncomfortable — where Draco visits Severus. Severus complains about his presence in the lab but Draco pays it no mind. He knows he wouldn’t be allowed in at all if it were a serious issue.

It’s an odd choice, he reflects, to choose to alleviate his loneliness with Severus. There are other people who he knows would offer, others who even ask, but Draco ignores all of them. He has no desire to have his problems spread throughout his social circle, no desire to listen to people drone on about the toils of love.

He likes Severus’ company. Likes the pragmatic approach, the brutal efficiency. Severus doesn’t allow him to wallow in self-pity, rather, he gives him two options: do something about it, or don’t talk about it.

Draco chooses the latter. The result is long days spent discussing everything but his marriage, the two of them working and living alongside each other near seamlessly.

It’s almost worrying how much he enjoys it.

***

Somewhere throughout these visits, Draco starts to feel guilty.

He can’t pinpoint when, and he doesn’t know why, but the emotion is there. It feels like he’s betraying someone, which is ridiculous, Draco thinks, because he and Severus never do anything, not really. He may spend more time at Severus’ side than he does with his wife, but they’ve never once crossed the boundary between appropriate and inappropriate, have never touched each other in a way that could be considered untoward.

There’s just something he gets from Severus that he doesn’t get from Astoria. A type of companionship that has always been missing from their relationship. He loves her, he knows he does, but it’s not the same. He gets a spark from Severus that he never got from her; a warm sensation so forceful it threatens to tear his chest apart.

He tries to push it aside, tries to tell himself that what he and Severus are doing isn’t wrong, but then, if that were true, Draco suspects he wouldn’t have to think it in the first place.

 

**iii.**

The wedding is a rather tedious affair.

Draco hadn’t been asked to be part of the official party. Under normal circumstances, he may have been upset about it. Today, however, he can’t help but be thankful.

He sits at a table with his parents and Severus, the remaining seats occupied by Pansy and her latest girlfriend. Astoria sits at the main table, right alongside her sister. She looks beautiful, Draco doesn’t deny, in a long, deep blue gown, her hair and face done in a way not unlike their own wedding. She’s smiling, but Draco can see the strain to it.

They’d fought that morning. Draco honestly can’t say how it started, but start it did. He wants to be upset about it, knows that he _should_ be upset about it, but he isn’t. Can’t be. If anything, he hopes it keeps up.

He still hasn’t told her he wants a divorce, and nor is he going to. Their relationship has been steadily declining over the past month, and with any luck, Draco thinks he’ll get her to ask first.

He sits between Severus and Pansy, his mother watching him from across the table. Someone is giving a speech, though Draco has no idea who. He isn’t paying attention. Instead, he’s focused on the flute of champagne Pansy had handed him, his eyes fixed on the clear bubbles as they pop.

“I’m going to need something stronger than champagne to get through this,” Severus murmurs, head bent so only Draco can hear.

Draco snorts softly, his mouth pressed against his arm to muffle the sound. “Was my wedding this bad?”

“Worse,” Severus jokes, and Draco laughs again.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, the speeches conclude. Draco lets out a deep sigh as they’re allowed to talk amongst themselves.

“I never want to hear Maura Zabini talk again after this,” his father says. Narcissa smacks his arm, though there’s a small smile on her face, like she can’t help but agree.

“It was a lovely toast,” she says, and Draco snorts.

“You were listening?”

Narcissa sends him a look, the one that roughly translates to _I raised you better_. Draco bites back his smile and offers an insincere apology. He’s just about to divert the conversation to Pansy’s new companion when a seventh figure approaches their table.

“Severus,” says a man Draco doesn’t recognise. He looks far too excited, his face drawn into a large smile. “Wonderful to see you.”

Severus obviously knows the man, as does his father, if the look on their faces are anything to go by. Neither look pleased with the interruption.

Yes, Draco thinks. They’re definitely in for a long night.

***

After the fifth person approaches their table to talk to Severus, Draco huffs. He slouches against his seat, eyes narrowed as he watches the lady retreat.

“Still the big hero, then.”

Severus glares, his displeasure obvious. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You two ought to get up out of your seats,” Narcissa tells them. She’s been away most of the night, Lucius at her side, the two of them alternating between dancing and mingling. “You’d enjoy it a lot more.”

Lucius has an arm draped across her chair, his hand resting on her shoulder. They both wear matching amused looks.

Draco wonders how much champagne they’ve had.

“Try dancing,” says his father, and Draco knows it must be a lot.

Draco eyes the crowd of people, a grimace on his face. He catches sight of Astoria, her head thrown back in a laugh as she dances with Theodore Nott. He doesn’t know how to feel.

“You know,” Narcissa says, drawing his attention back to the table, “your father taught Severus how to dance when we were younger. It was quite the sight.”

Next to him, both Severus and Lucius scowl. Draco grins. “I’m sure it was beautiful,” he says, glancing to his godfather.

“We almost killed each other.”

“Only because you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Because you were a horrible teacher.”

Lucius arches a perfectly groomed brow, looking affronted. “I was an excellent teacher,” he says. “You learnt how to waltz.”

Severus opens his mouth to retort, and Draco turns back to his mother. “Tell me there are photos,” he says.

“A whole album,” Narcissa tells him. “I’ll show you later.”

***

They make it out of their chairs and onto the dance floor eventually. Severus doesn’t dance, though he does stand on the edge of the crowd with Narcissa, the both of them watching as Draco takes Astoria for an obligatory waltz.

Astoria doesn’t speak to him as they twirl across the floor, though a polite smile remains on her face. Draco doesn’t care. There isn’t anything he has to say.

He can feel Severus watching him. It feels almost like a game, he thinks. Like a cat-and-mouse. Draco smiles when their eyes meet over Astoria’s shoulder, only half surprised to feel a pang of want; a desire for Severus to be the one with a hand on his waist.

With an internal sigh, he pushes the thoughts aside and turns back to his wife, forcing his smile to widen.

***

“I’m going to help my parents clean up,” Astoria says hours later, once the celebration hall has emptied to just a few of them. “I’ll see you at home.”

Draco doesn’t bother arguing. He presses a kiss to her cheek, murmurs a goodbye to the Greengrasses, and follows his parents to the Apparation point. His mother makes him promise to visit soon, and Draco agrees easily, watching as they both disappear with a crack.

“I take it you’re with me,” Severus says once it’s just the two of them.

“Do you mind?”

Severus merely grabs his arm in answer, allowing him a moment to prepare before he Apparates them both back to his home.

“Another drink?” Severus asks as they land in his sitting room. He lights a row of candles with a wave of his hand and sets a jet of light towards the fireplace, bright orange flames popping up a moment later. “Something stronger, perhaps.”

Draco knows he should say no. Knows that he probably should have offered to help Astoria clean up. That he should have gone home with her afterwards and apologised for their row that morning. That he should have kissed her, got into bed with her, and told her that he loves her.

Instead, he hums his agreement and falls to the couch, a hand lifting to unbutton the high neck of his robes. “Definitely,” he says, eyes shutting against the warmth of the fire.

He’s never been good at doing what he ought to.

***

“Late night?” Astoria asks come morning, when he’s passing through the kitchen to make it to their bedroom. He’d thought he’d manage to get in before she woke, but evidently he’d been wrong.

He stops, stares down at her cool expression. He’s still dressed in last night’s robes, his outer cloak still smelling of Severus’ cigarette smoke and the fumes of the fire. “I drank a bit too much,” he says. “Severus thought it best I stay. You know how Apparation can get.”

It’s not an outright lie. He had drunk too much, but he hadn’t suggested leaving. He’d fallen half asleep on Severus’ lounge, his cheek pressed to his godfather’s shoulder, his hair mussed across his forehead and the fire crackling in the distance. Severus had suggested the spare room, his arm a solid weight around Draco’s waist, his long fingers holding on just a little too tight, and Draco hadn’t thought twice about accepting.

“Oh,” Astoria says, and the hardness to her face slowly fades. The cool, contained frustration melting to her usual look, all soft and patient with him, and Draco tries not to feel guilty. He knows he’s at an advantage, knows that even if he had been having an affair with Severus, Astoria would never think it. Severus is his godfather; she knows that, she would never think them more than that. “Have you eaten, then?”

“No.” Draco looks at her half finished plate, the teacup with only splashes of liquid left. “I was going to shower,” he tells her. “But it can wait. We can eat.”

“No, don’t,” Astoria answers. “Go shower. The food will still be here later.”

With a final, long look, Draco goes.

 

**iv.**

“Daphne’s pregnant.”

His mother pauses, teacup held halfway towards her mouth. “That was quick.”

“She was pregnant the day of,” Draco informs her. “Astoria says they just realised.”

And what an awkward conversation that had been. It’s been months since they were last intimate together, and Draco knows Astoria wants a child about as much as his father wants an heir.

“How is that?” his mother asks. “Any improvement?”

“No.”

“Are you trying?”

“No.”

Narcissa sighs, though Draco catches the amusement that shimmers behind her eyes. “You need to put an effort in if you want it to work.”

And that’s the thing, Draco thinks. He doesn’t want it to work.

Narcissa looks as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

Draco swallows the spout of nerves the question prompts. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Draco.”

“You won’t approve,” he says. “At least, Father won’t.”

“Are you having an affair?”

“No,” he says, and it almost feels like a lie. “It’s just…”

“Attraction?” Narcissa offers, and Draco nods. She sighs. “There’s a long way between attraction and adultery.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he admits, and his mother’s mouth twitches.

“Who?”

Draco chews on his bottom lip, unable to look at her. He looks out to the gardens instead, the sky a stormy grey, the windows covered with drops of rain. A moment passes where he says nothing, where Narcissa simply watches him, patiently awaiting a response.

And then, “Severus.”

“Oh,” Narcissa breathes, setting her saucer down. Her gaze flicks between him and the stairwell that leads to Lucius’ study. “Yes,” she says, “best keep that discreet for now.”

It’s not funny, but Draco can’t help the bubble of laughter. He leans against his mother’s side, his head falling to Narcissa’s shoulder. She takes a hold of his hand and intertwines their fingers together.

“What am I going to do?” he asks, voice soft.

Narcissa leans her cheek against his forehead. “Talk to her,” she says. “It’s the only way.”

***

Draco doesn’t put it off any longer.

He finds Astoria in their library when he returns home, her small frame curled on one of the armchairs. She’s got a book in hand and a tray of hot cocoa at her side, and Draco takes a moment to simply look at her before approaching.

She looks up when he walks in front of her, a tired smile on her face. It falls to a frown when she sees his expression. “What is it?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

“You know I love you, don’t you?”

Astoria tilts her head as he sits on the chair’s edge. “I like to think so.”

“And you know I care about you, don’t you?”

Astoria’s brow has raised, her face lined with worry. “Draco, what’s wrong?” she asks. “What did you do?”

Draco laughs, the sound little more than a sigh. “Nothing,” he says. “I just…” he trails off, his hand reaching to rub at his forehead. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

Astoria sits up properly. “What?”

“We’re not happy,” he says. “Or, I’m not happy and it’s making you miserable.” Her book has fallen shut, her attention entirely on him. Draco takes hold of the newly vacated hand, his touch cold against her warm skin. “I thought it would be fine, I did. But it’s not, and I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to make you hate me.”

Astoria pulls her hand from his, her fingers running through her hair. “Is this why you’ve been acting so weird lately?” she asks. “Because you want a divorce?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco tells her, and this time he actually means it.

“No, do—” Astoria cuts herself off with a sigh. “You’re an idiot, you know.”

Draco blinks. “What?”

“You. You’re an idiot.” Astoria looks at him, and Draco’s surprised to see a small smile on her face. “It’s nothing I didn’t know but bloody hell, Draco.”

“What did I do?” he asks. He can’t help but feel a little offended.

“You spent three months hiding from me instead of talking to me,” Astoria starts. “You almost ruined our friendship, never mind our marriage. You’ve likely worked yourself up over it a number of times. And, Merlin, your poor mother. Is this what all the visits have been about?”

“Well I couldn’t talk to you about it, could I?”

“Yes!” Astoria exclaims. “That’s exactly what you should have bloody done.”

Draco stands from his seat, looking at her with surprise. “You’re not upset?”

“I…” Astoria sighs again. “I’m not happy about it,” she says. “But let’s not fool ourselves, Draco. We did not marry each other out of love.”

Draco has to concede to that. He exhales slowly, sitting back down. Astoria’s head lolls against the cushion, and this time, when Draco reaches for her hand, she allows him to take it.

“Your father…”

“I know,” says Draco. “I’ll talk to him.”

***

“He said no.”

Draco stands on Severus’ doorstep, his travelling cloak wrapped tight around him, the thick fabric soaked through with rain. He’s shivering lightly, a whole body tremor that makes him look much younger than he is. The sky is dark behind him, the moon bright in the night sky.

Severus ushers him inside, pulling the cloak off his body and hanging it on the spare hook. He has his wand in hand, prepared to cast a drying spell on Draco, but cold arms wrap around him before he can. Draco buries his face into his shoulder, the wet strands of his hair catching on Severus’ cheek, and Severus hasn’t the heart to push him away.

“He said no,” Draco says again. It’s mumbled this time, his mouth working against the scarred flesh of Severus’ neck. There’s no need to ask who _he_ is.

Silently, Severus damns Lucius and his need to uphold tradition. He knows for a fact that the man loves his son, that if he could see Draco now, he wouldn’t force him to do anything.

“Come,” he says, his lips brushing Draco’s forehead. “I’ll make tea.”

***

A half hour later finds them in Severus’ sitting room, Draco dry and curled on the chair next to the fire. It’s not big enough for two, but Severus sits on the edge, Draco’s grip of his wrist keeping him there.

“I think Astoria’s happy about it,” Draco tells him. “She wants a child. I don’t think she wants to wait.”

“And you?”

“I don’t know,” Draco sighs. His hand slides down Severus’ arm, until their hands are pressed palm to palm. Severus’ skin is warm, Draco notes. The pads of his fingers rough in a way Draco’s aren’t. If he presses down, they’d be holding hands. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“I can try talking to him,” Severus suggests, but Draco shakes his head.

“No,” he murmurs. “If he didn’t listen to Mother, he won’t listen to you.”

It’s true, Severus knows it is. He still wishes there was something he could do to wipe the miserable look off Draco’s face.

He stares at Draco, and Draco stares back. He looks beautiful in the firelight, Severus thinks, the flames dancing in the grey of his eyes, the tip of his cheeks dark with the shadow of long eyelashes. Without thinking, Severus presses his hand forward, their fingers linking together easily, and Draco’s lips part in a barely-audible gasp.

“It won’t be forever,” Draco murmurs, because it feels like he has to say something, and all the other words have left him. His voice is almost lost in the sound of the rain outside, in the pitter patter of the drops as they hit the window. Severus hums but does not speak.

Draco swallows, his throat unnaturally tight. Severus is still staring at him, and he’s so close, Draco thinks. So, so close. Draco can feel the heat of his body, can see the rise and fall of his chest. It would be so easy to reach out, he thinks. So easy to grab him, to lean up and kiss him, to take what part of him has always wanted.

He almost wishes Severus would do it first.

But that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s his decision. It has always been his decision.

Draco has stopped fooling himself, has stopped making excuses. He knows that this thing between he and Severus is much more than just companionship. Knows that the spark he feels is reciprocated. He’s come to realise that Severus has been giving him the power to decide how far they take it, just as he is now. Because it would be so easy, Draco thinks, for Severus to initiate it. It would be just as easy for him to reach out, to slide an arm beneath Draco’s robe, to curl it around his waist until long fingers are brushing the small of his back, teasing. Would be so easy to capture Draco’s mouth, to kiss his way down his jaw, neck, torso. Would be so easy to take what he knows Draco would give.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he waits. Watches. Keeps his eyes focused on Draco as if he can read his every thought, as if he can understand his inner turmoil.

Draco’s gaze flicks between Severus’ eyes, his lips, the steady movements of his chest. His free hand is hovering above Severus’ arm, posed like it’s about to grab, like his fingers are about to tangle into the fabric and never let go.

He’s moved unconsciously closer, his stomach all but leaning across Severus’ lap, their mouths breathing the same air. Draco’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he tries to will the intruding thoughts away, tries to forget the very real pressure of his wedding ring. The pressure he’s certain Severus can feel with their hands clasped as they are.

He wants this, he knows he does, but...

_But._

All at once, Draco leans back. He breathes in long, shaky exhales, his face tinged with sadness when he looks at Severus. “I can’t,” he says, and it’s barely a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Draco shakes his head, wants to yell _no, it’s not_. He can feel the scream pressing against the back of his teeth, can hear the word _unfairunfairunfair_ repeating itself in his head like a mantra.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and his voice still shakes. “I want to... Circe, I want to. But…”

He shakes his head, fingers threading through thick blond hair. They tug quickly, like the spurt of pain might help clear his thoughts.

What an idiot he is, he thinks. Anyone else would, he thinks. _Stupid fucking family tradition,_ he thinks.

“You have a wife,” Severus finishes. He’s not going to beat around the bush, not going to make it harder than it already is. He sighs, his hand falling from Draco’s. He steps up and away from the chair, as if putting distance between them might help. “You’re a far more noble man than any Malfoy before you,” he says, and Draco laughs; airy and bitter.

“Oh yes, lucky Astoria,” he says. “Stuck in a loveless marriage but at least her husband doesn’t cheat.”

Severus’ lips twitch, as if the situation is so unfunny that he can’t help the desire to laugh. “You’ll find a way to work things out.”

“Maybe,” Draco says, but he doesn’t mean it. Silently, he curses his past self for choosing to marry a friend. He may not be in love with her, but he does love Astoria, does consider her his closest friend. It’s why he can’t betray her. Why he isn’t already splayed out naked across Severus’ bed.

“You should leave.”

Every part of his body wants to stay where it is, and yet, Draco stands. He doesn’t talk as they walk to the door, doesn’t say anything as he fastens his cloak.

He takes two steps out of the house before he turns back.

“Severus, I—” He looks up at Severus from his front step, the rain already soaking his robe. “I only need an heir,” he says. “Once I do that… it won’t matter.”

Severus has a hand curled around the doorknob, one eyebrow arched. “Are you asking me to wait, Draco?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” The words are jumbled together, tinged with frustration. Draco looks up at him, bottom lip held between his teeth. “Would you?”

Severus sighs, the sound lost in the wind. Would he? He doesn’t know. Probably, he thinks. Most likely. He’s never quite sure of anything when it comes to Draco.

“We’ll see,” he says. It’s as close to a promise as he’ll get.

Draco smiles at him, small but meaningful. He nods once, his hair falling across his forehead, and then he turns on his heel and Severus is forced to watch as he disappears out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and kudos are very much appreciated!


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